Which leads me to another point. The Hollywood machine is powerful, despite my ten million followers, and they may try to silence me.
Or worse.
I’m not naïve.
But if he’s guilty, will they do the moral thing and reject his nomination? Historically, the industry is made up of rich white men, so it will be very interesting.
After washing my hands, I head down the hall to my dressing room.
Don’t ask me how many times I’ve dropped things down the front of me and needed a costume change just before—or during—a show. Hence, having everything I need to always be camera ready...and hit the bar on Friday nights.
I pull my blonde hair out of the French twist and slide my fingers through it. I add another layer of foundation, some more blush, and touch up my eyes for night. Darker and moodier without overdoing it. Then I finish with rose-pink gloss.
Swapping my flats for heels, I run my hand over my figure-hugging black capri pants and tip my head, taking in my white blouse.
Nope.
I feel like wearing something a little sexier.
Walking to the rack of clothes, I nudge the hangers until I find a strapless black bustier. Smiling, I undress, put it on, and add a black blazer. I fold the sleeves a few times until it shows the silver lining and my silver bangles, then adjust the outfit until I’m happy with the amount of skin I’m showing.
I still have some of my Caribbean tan from a few weeks ago, and because I work out frequently, my waistline is looking pretty good. Even with all the cocktails I had while on vacation.
When I head back down to the office, Milly is gliding a brush through her shiny dark hair and simultaneously adding lipstick. I’m almost five years older than her, and I swear I’ve forgotten how effortless it is for women in their twenties to look amazing in under a minute.
Good for her.
But yeah, if I could turn back time.
“Ready?” She tucks a purse under her arm, and we walk to the elevator. “I hope Sam is tending bar tonight.”
“Why don’t you just ask him out?” I roll my eyes and laugh.
“Eww, no. He has to ask me.” She gasps as if I told her she should propose to the guy.
“It’s not 1985. Just ask him to meet you for lunch.”
Milly presses the button to take us to the lobby and leans against the wall. “I don’t want to have lunch, I want him to do dirty things to me.”
I laugh.
“Well, roll your tank up under your bra and give him your number.”
All day she was wearing a sweatshirt and black miniskirt. With the removal of one piece of clothing, she is club ready. Unbelievable.
“Good idea.” Milly starts the outfit adjustment then looks at me and slumps. “Wait. No, then we’ll be matchy-matchy.” She tugs it down again, showing off her cleavage. “How’s that?”
“Honey, you’re stunning. If Sam doesn’t get the message, move on. This is New York City. There are a lot of men in this city who would love to date you...or whatever.”
As someone who had decided to remain single for the foreseeable future, I was hardly the right person to be giving any lectures on dating or one-night stands.
We walk down Madison Ave. toward the bar, and I take in the city that I was born and bred in. I love this place. I love the energy, the chaos, and all the opportunities available if you’re willing to work hard for it.
I hope to find the inspiration to fall in love and live happily ever after like some people do. After my last relationship, I wasn’t keen on launching into another one. Nothing terrible happened. I trusted him with my heart, and he fell out of love with me...apparently.
So it just ended.
I’ve blamed myself since. Perhaps I wasn’t paying attention. Perhaps I was terrible in bed. A horrible kisser. Did I snore, and he didn’t want to tell me?
